August 27, 2024
The only way is up
Raven finally gets home
Dear Sir/ Madam
I wrote following a recent cycle tour in the South West of England, to bring to your attention a number of important issues.
Firstly, it appears that someone has concealed Kilimanjaro in the county of Somerset, and swathed it in hedging to keep it invisible to the naked eye. Although my route purportedly covered around 5000ft of climbing, I can assure you that in reality it was at least twelve times that, and the advertised downhill segments were notably absent.
Also, there were definite problems with the space time continuum thing, because although my GPS unit logged six hours of cycling, it felt more like twelve, and I am rarely mistaken in such matters.
Lastly, I would be grateful if you might clarify why it is that although recent tailwinds have been barely perceptible, someone has decreed that local headwinds should feel much like riding into a brick wall, both in terms of enjoyment, and the ability to make gainful progress.
I trust that you might give these matters your urgent attention, not just for myself, but also for other regional cyclists who I know would be very much in your debt.
(Yours etc...)
P.S. Also, what is it with flying insects and their insistence on crashing into the vents in cycle helmets, before doing repeated laps of the scalp? Surely some of them could pass by without making contact. It's not big, and it's not clever.
Today was actually a decent day's cycling, but sheesh, it felt like the longest of the three. As I may have previously mentioned, I am very much not religious, so I'm unsure to whom I should address my feedback. Let me know if you've ideas. I guess I could go with Father Christmas, the North Pole. He's generally reliable and well-disposed.
My hotel didn't do breakfast today, but it also didn't ask clients to check out before midday, which was pretty exceptional in my experience. I had no intention of being that late, but felt able to set the alarm for 0815 before toddling off to the neighbouring McDonald's for breakfast. I do like their breakfast food, if not so much their other menu offerings. And after some leisurely faffing, it was just before ten when I dropped my keycard into the box at reception, and wheeled Raven out to the road. The last leg was beginning.
Our trip would take us through Somerset and Devon, along a series of pretty rural back roads. It was the hilliest day's ride we'd planned, and although I'd thought my legs were fresh, it was disproportionately tough going.
We meandered through some lovely Cotswold villages (all near the top of a hill), which are characterised by the honey-coloured stone of the area. Lots of quaint thatched roofs, large striped lawns, and rambling roses. I'd have slowed to look more often, but then I'd have ground to a halt entirely, because gradient, and headwinds.
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At thirty miles in, I arrived at the high street of Chard, which frankly wasn't really that picturesque. But it did have a very decent café by the name of Jenny's, where they served baked beans on toast for about four quid. I could imagine this making it very popular with the cycling community, but I felt like I'd earned a proper lunch, so I went with ham, egg and chips, plus a vanilla milkshake which was about 50% ice cream. Raven sat on the other side of the window and waited patiently. There being no railway station in Chard, I sighed, clipped in, and headed off up the (long,steep) hill.
One of the joys of English cycle touring is the succession of frankly ludicrous place names. Half way up the steepest of the four main ascents that remained, I treated myself to a stop. I don't usually like to do this - it's a pride thing - but the sign that we were passing genuinely warranted greater publicity. This wasn't one of those "ohlookattheview" excuses, as I think you'll agree.
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Gradually, the place names became more familiar, and soon we found ourselves at Honiton, back in Devon and about 20 miles from home. One last hill towards Whimple, where we were delighted to pick off a group of five lycra cyclists, and it was pretty much flat all the way.
I ignored the GPS route for the last few miles because I decided instead to take the canal path home, rather than the main road. It was a lovely day and there's a great route which runs along one side of the Exe estuary, and back down the other side to Exmouth. It's popular with commuters and recreational cyclists alike, and not just because it passes a fair handful of pubs.
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We were about there now. A last stretch up past Powderham castle and the back of the deer park, and we doubled back into my home village and the waiting shower/ sofa. With a shock, I realised that I hadn't actually managed to get through any cake today. By way of consolation, I grabbed an ice cream from the freezer instead, and sat on the decking.
I'd said at the outset that we had two targets: successfully making the miles planned for our trip, and getting through at least two cakes a day, I also said that I was convinced I'd achieve at least one of those things. In the event, it wasn't entirely the one I'd expected. I think 159 miles might be about as far as I want to go in a day, but I'm very happy (and not a little disbelieving) that I actually did it, and it definitely brings some bragging rights. Plus, apparently, it's less effort than a 69 mile ride. Who knew?
Today's ride: 69 miles (111 km)
Total: 318 miles (512 km)
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